


Sleeping in the Devil's Bed

by hotchoco195



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: AU from The Blind Banker, But Not the Good Kind, F/M, Gift Giving, Jim Being Creepy, Kidnapping, Non-Canonical Character Death, Obsession, Rape, Stalking, unhealthy relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-13
Updated: 2013-11-14
Packaged: 2018-01-01 09:26:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 5
Words: 16,783
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1043183
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hotchoco195/pseuds/hotchoco195
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ever wondered why Moriarty's seal is a magpie?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is very trigger-heavy, especially in later chapters, so heed the warnings

It was a black square box with a red ribbon, the familiar seal glaring at her from the top. Molly wanted to leave it there but she knew it was pointless. It would only sit on the mat for days until she inevitably brought it in anyway, and it was better to get it over with now. She scooped it up carefully and let herself in, the familiar feeling of being watched making her shiver. She put her things on the hall table and carried the box over to the couch, setting it down. She eyed it for a moment before her courage failed her. Molly went into the kitchen and made herself tea; she changed out of her work clothes into her pyjamas. She fed Toby and herself and flicked through her junk mail, all to put off opening that box.

Eventually it couldn’t be ignored. She took a deep breath and perched on the edge of the cushions, hands trembling as they traced the magpie pressed into the red wax. She tugged and the ribbon popped free. She lifted the black shiny card lid and placed it aside, pointedly not looking inside the box yet. She took another breath and peeled back the red tissue.

It was a small teddy bear holding a love heart, the kind of cheesy Valentine’s you’d expect from a new boyfriend. Someone had embroidered the heart with _J+M_ , the stitches just amateur enough to tell her who’d done it. She pushed it across the coffee table as far away from her as possible.

Molly didn’t want to look in the box but she had to. After all, she clearly had no self control or common sense. She reached in and pulled out the scattered Polaroids she knew would be there, flipping through as quickly as possible.

It was worse than usual – a decapitated head, its matching body, fingers peeled open to show broken bones. Molly dropped them and ran to the sink, throwing up her dinner with a disgusting hacking noise. She looked down at the picture still clutched in her fingers. It was a heart drawn in blood on the man’s chest, signed _For my Magpie._

 

The next one was at the morgue, tied in black crepe paper in the middle of the drawer when she pulled it open. She tore the paper into strips and picked up the necklace inside. It must have been worth thousands, hundreds of thousands even, all dripping diamonds and rubies. She spread out the photos underneath of a man eating what looked like his own liver, tears down his cheek as Jim held up the camera beside him. She bit back the rising bile in her throat and swept the whole lot in the bin.

*****

_“Maggie, have you met my friend James?”_

_She looked up and smiled at the short brunette. He seemed nervous, watching her from under his lashes as her roommate waved a hand between them._

_“Nice to meet you. I’m Margaret but everyone calls me Maggie.”_

_“Pleased to meet you. Emily has such nice things to say about you.”_

_“Does she?” she frowned at the girl, “They’re not true, I promise.”_

_“Oh I bet they are.”_

_She blushed and forced herself to lift her head. “Are you pre-med too?”_

_“Mathematics.”_

_“That sounds…interesting.”_

_“It is.”_

_“Good.” She said quickly, not sure what else to say._

_“So do you guys wanna come down to the pub with us?” Emily asked, examining her nails in faux innocence._

_“I guess it could be nice.” Molly hugged her books to her chest._

_James’ eyes lit up with a sudden intensity. “We can get to know each other better.”_

_“Sure. I’d like that.”_

*****

“What’s that?”

She’d forgotten Sherlock was there the second she spotted the package. Now her head flicked up as she shoved it in her coat pocket.

“Nothing.”

“Hmm.” He turned back to his microscope, obviously not curious enough to grill her.

Molly wanted to open it as much as she wanted to bin it, but neither was possible with the detective already suspicious. She loitered around the lab bench tidying Petri dishes and shelving solutions, glancing at Sherlock every few seconds to gauge whether he was distracted again. Her phone beeped and she froze, choosing to ignore it.

“You have a message.” Sherlock said helpfully.

“Ah, yes. Thanks.” She smiled brusquely, taking out the phone.

_You haven’t opened it yet. Don’t you like my presents Magpie?_

She clenched the phone and hit delete, jamming it back in her pocket.

“Sorry, morgue emergency. You’re okay here?”

“Huh? Oh fine, fine.”

She nodded and practically jogged into the hall, turning into the first female toilets she passed. Molly locked herself in a stall and lowered the lid, sitting on top as she drew out the gift. The magpie seal looked back at her mockingly as she opened the long slim box.

It was a dead kitten – her dead kitten. The patchy black and white fur was the same, the soft markings around his nose all too recognisable. There was a note underneath that she lifted with shaking hands.

_Now I’m the only thing you have to love again._

Molly burst into tears.

*****

_Molly was drunker than she usually liked to get but she’d been nervous about the date with James and guzzled her drinks a little too fast. He supported her with an arm around her waist as she giggled, the two of them ambling back towards the dorms._

_“I’m so sorry about this. I don’t normally drink you know.”_

_“I think it’s cute.”_

_“You’re so sweet James.” She clucked her tongue, leaning on him a bit more._

_He looked away quickly before smiling at her in that awkward self-conscious way. “I’m really not.”_

_“Yes you are. You’re the nicest guy I’ve met all year.”_

_They’d come to her dorm now and she swayed a little as he let go._

_“Good night then Maggie.” He said, hands shoved in his pockets._

_“You know Emily’s visiting her folks in Suffolk,” she blurted, “You could come up.”_

_He seemed to consider her for a long time, eyes raking over her face with more hunger than they should after a few pints. He finally nodded and took her hand._

_“I’d like that.”_

*****

Molly was nervous. She hadn’t had a package in two months. Normally they came every few weeks and while she was in some ways relieved this didn’t necessarily mean Jim had disappeared. It could just mean he was planning something big.

She got a call from Lestrade that he was coming down to inspect a new body. Molly packed away her things and headed to the morgue, not at all surprised to find Sherlock already there waiting.

“Sherlock.” She ducked her head.

“Show me.” He said abruptly.

“Alright.”

She walked over to the sheet-covered corpse and pulled it back, dropping the fabric with a shriek.

“What is it?” Sherlock quickly moved closer to look, “What’s wrong?”

Her eyes were glued to the giant magpie scrawled into the dead woman’s chest but she shook it off when a warm hand touched her shoulder.

“Nothing! It’s nothing, I just wasn’t expecting that.”

Sherlock made a face but stooped to peer at the cut.

“Made before she died…directly above the heart. A very distinctive calling card.”

She wasn’t listening; after all, for once she knew more about something than Sherlock. The problem was it wasn’t a good thing. Molly barely managed to keep herself together while he rattled on quietly, looking up as Lestrade entered.

“I see you beat me to it again.” The D.I. grumbled.

“Well, I’ve got some paperwork to get to,” she said brightly, “I’ll be back in ten minutes to put her away for you.”

Molly excused herself and headed for the stairwell. As soon as she was alone she ran, sprinting up as fast as she could manage until the breath wheezed in her throat. She broke through onto the roof and hunched over, dragging the air into her lungs. It couldn’t be long now.

*****

_“Where have you been?”_

_She frowned at the brunette perched on her window sill. “James? How did you get in?”_

_“You didn’t answer the question.”_

_“I was out with Leanne. What’s wrong?”_

_“You didn’t tell me where you were. I came over to see you and Emily said you were out.”_

_“Well I was. I’m sorry, if I’d known you were coming I would have told you.”_

_His brow twitched and he stood. “You made me very worried.”_

_“Well I’m sorry. I was with friends though; there was no need to be concerned.”_

_“I lost my temper.” He muttered._

_She frowned and took a step back. “What do you mean?”_

_“I can’t help myself sometimes. You’re all I can think about. You make me feel things, do things…like I’m possessed.”_

_“James, what did you do?”_

_His eyes flicked to the bathroom. The room was too dark to see his face properly but she searched for anything, anything that wasn’t the hollow black stare she’d become too accustomed to._

_“James?”_

_He didn’t answer. She stepped towards the bathroom but he didn’t stop her. Molly slowly turned the knob, the metal slick under her fingers. She pushed the door open and it swung soundlessly, mockingly._

_Emily was lying on the floor propped against the edge of the bath. Her eyes stared up at Molly vacantly, blood trickling from the corners of her mouth. A pair of nail scissors was buried in her chest up to the hilt._

_“You shouldn’t try to keep things from me, Magpie.” A voice rolled out of the dark behind her._

_Molly stumbled backwards with a scream._

*****

The next parcel was on the pillow beside her when she woke up. Molly immediately recoiled, rolling until she fell off the bed. She groaned and picked herself up, edging closer. It was a large flat blue box with the usual ribbon and seal. Her knuckles seemed too stiff as she tugged the string off but it must have been her imagination because they never fumbled with the knots.

Inside was the most beautiful dress she’d ever seen. It was long white chiffon, almost Grecian in style and elegant enough for a princess. She checked the tag but of course it was her size, and by someone whose name she couldn’t even pronounce so it must have cost a fortune. She lifted it out of the box but there was no accompanying note or photographs for once, just a handful of dried red rose petals.

Molly wasn’t an idiot. She recognised basic symbolism and she knew Jim and his patterns well enough. This was more trouble than she could handle; this was the final straw. She picked up her phone and sorted through her contacts until she found Sherlock’s number.

*****

_“What’s wrong, my love?” James frowned._

_“She’s…she’s dead!” Molly gasped out._

_“She was being very rude. Very disrespectful.”_

_Her eyes flicked over to him, brow furrowing. “You did this?”_

_“Of course,” he said with a tiny hint of a disbelieving smirk, “Who else would do it?”_

_“You’re insane.” She whispered._

_Molly realised she’d said something terribly wrong when his face clouded over. Suddenly James was an inch from her face, body slamming hers back into the wall._

_“Insane, huh? Funny. You didn’t seem to mind my eccentricities earlier.”_

_“This isn’t a cute little quirk, Jim! You killed somebody!”_

_“For you, Magpie. Always for you.”_

_“What?” she said, tears building up._

_“She was a bad friend. She couldn’t see that we’re meant to be.” He reached up and stroked the hair hanging by her face._

_“Don’t touch me!” she snapped her head back._

_Jim froze, eyes taking on a dangerous glint. Molly felt like she couldn’t breathe, nails scratching at the wall behind her as if she could tear her way out. Then suddenly he calmed, taking on a look so serene it would have made her sick if she hadn’t been terrified._

_“It’s alright. I understand. I’m not worthy of you yet. I haven’t proven myself.”_

_“What does that mean?”_

_“You’ll see, Magpie. One day I’ll show you just how much you mean to me.”_

_He pressed a hand to her waist and she opened her mouth to scream, but Jim only squeezed it and climbed back out the window._

*****

“Thanks for this.” she said as Sherlock walked over with a pillow and blanket bundled in his arms.

“It’s no trouble. I only wish you had said something sooner.”

“It was sort of hard to explain.” She hugged herself as he put the bedding on the couch beside her, fingers rubbing over her arms.

“Lestrade is combing your flat as we speak, though he won’t find anything we don’t already know, and tomorrow I’ll have Mycroft move you to a safer location until we find Moriarty.”

“I don’t know what I can do to repay you.”

He looked confused. “Why would you need to repay me?”

Molly smiled, figuring it was too hard to argue with him. “You’re right.”

“Obviously. Tea?”

“Thanks.”

He walked into the kitchen and she fussed with the linen, setting up her makeshift bed as she waited. There was a quiet smash like broken porcelain and Molly paused.

“Sherlock?”

A tall blonde man in a khaki shirt stepped out of the kitchen dragging the detective with him. His sleeves were rolled up to show bulging muscles covered in dark service tattoos wrapped tight around Sherlock’s chest, a gun pressed to his jaw.

“Sherlock!” she sat up.

A second man sauntered out of the kitchen in a dark suit, hands clasped behind him. He stopped on the other side of the coffee table and smiled.

“Hello Magpie.”

“Molly, run.” Sherlock ground out, ignoring the gun that dug deeper into his flesh.

“Oh I think she knows better than that,” Jim smiled, “Maggie’s had plenty of time to prepare for this.”

Her eyes darted between them, throat suddenly as dry as the Sahara. “Let him go.”

“Why? Because you love him?” his smile suddenly turned ugly, “You thought I wouldn’t notice, Magpie? The way you mooned over him, being oh so helpful and obliging. It’s sick how he overlooks you. He should be worshipping at your feet.”

“You’re right,” she said carefully, “But that’s just Sherlock. He’s a bit daft sometimes. There’s no need to get him mixed up in this.”

“Oh? You ran to him for protection Maggie. Protection from _me_. That makes him very much involved.”

She stood, coming closer even though her feet were burning to run and never look back.

“It’s about us, right James? Just us. Nobody else matters.”

“That’s right,” he softened, “Us.”

“Us.” She nodded in agreement.

“I’m glad you finally see it.”

“I do. Just let Sherlock go and we can work it out.”

He laughed so sharply it made her jump. “Oh sweet Magpie, I am not a fool.”

“What? I didn’t think you were-”

“You care about him. Look at you scrambling so desperately to save him! This just won’t do.”

He walked around the table and gripped her upper arms firmly, sighing loudly.

“A fresh start Maggie. That’s what we need.”

“You don’t have to do this James.”

“I do. It’s the only way to make you see.”

 

Jim let go and walked back into the kitchen. Molly was almost hyperventilating as she looked at Sherlock. His captor watched her impassively, gun still steady and solid in his hands as he held the detective. Sherlock looked at her with an expression that said she should be making the most of this opportunity to get out of there but she couldn’t leave if there was even the slimmest chance to save him.

Jim walked back in with the white dress. “You forgot your present.”

“I…I did. Thank you.”

“Put it on.” He held it out.

“James-”

“Put it on.”

She reluctantly grasped the material, taking a step towards the door. He grabbed her wrist.

“Here.”

“What?” she looked at the blond and Sherlock, “But there’s people.”

“They know you are mine. I want to see you Magpie. It’s been too long.”

She couldn’t think of anything she wanted to do less than strip in front of the present company. Her jaw clenched as she looked at Sherlock. There was no way she could do this; her brain was blank whenever she tried to think of a way out.

Jim tutted impatiently. “Maggie, there’s no need to be shy. I love every inch of you, my darling.”

She wanted to cry at the sweet tone in his voice but instead she looked at the dress again and set it down. Slowly, cringing, she peeled off her cardigan and blouse, unzipping her skirt. She could feel Jim’s eyes all over her. The idea she was putting on some kind of show or playing out a fantasy made her want to cover herself with her hands but the smart thing to do was go along for now. John might come home or Lestrade might drop by to give an update. There were options so long as she played nice.

She drew the dress over her head, struggling for a moment with the sleeves. When it fell down off her face she was relieved to see Sherlock was looking away. She raised a hand to the zip but couldn’t reach, and Jim stepped forward to help her. His hand on her shoulder felt too warm, too much like the night Emily died. She clamped her eyes shut as he ran a finger down the flowing fabric.

“Breathtaking.”

She turned, making sure to take a step away even as she smiled half-heartedly. Jim looked pleased, staring at her adoringly. His gaze drifted up to her head and soured for a moment.

“It’s not quite perfect.”

He reached into his jacket and pulled out a thin silver hair comb, the metal engraved with swirling vines. Jim brushed her hair to one side and slid it in gently as Molly held her breath.

“There. Now you look the way I’ve always seen you.”

 

She couldn’t move without brushing against him. Molly tried a good-natured smile and reached forward to take his hands.

“It’s lovely James. Now how about we sit down and talk, just us? The others can wait downstairs.”

“I’ve spent every second since we parted making myself into a man who might deserve you Magpie. I’ve worked for years to accumulate the money and power to equal your grace, your kindness. And now we can finally be together again.” He tilted his head.

“James, James you didn’t need to do any of that,” She said pleadingly, “Hurting people isn’t the way to get me.”

“You saw the photos Magpie. It was all for you.”

She bit back a sob. “Please Jim, enough. Don’t hurt anyone else.”

“Do you love me Maggie? Do you need me the way I need you?”

She took another look at Sherlock standing rigidly in the blond’s grasp and swallowed. “I’ll go with you James. Just promise we can walk away now and leave all this behind. It’s not important. The only thing that matters is you and me, right?”

Jim looked happy for a moment before frowning, shaking his head. “No. It’s bad business to leave things unfinished Magpie. I can’t have you unless I have all of you.”

“What? No, no James you will, you’ll have me, just you.”

His grip on her hands tightened and he twisted, tugging her around until she was facing Sherlock with the smaller man pressed flush against her back. Her arms were tangled painfully and he wrenched them as he rested his chin on her shoulder.

“I can’t risk it Mags. You love your precious Sherlock. I don’t handle competition well.”

“No, James please, I‘ll do whatever you want-”

“Molly, don’t!” Sherlock fought out.

“You see?” Jim sighed, “This is the problem. You’re so terribly attached. It’s alright, Daddy knows how to fix it. Sebastian?”

“No!”

Sherlock struggled but the gunman’s arms were like steel. The shot was deafening as Sherlock collapsed to the floor.

“Noooo!” Molly jerked against Jim’s restraining arms, leaning forward as if she could reach the detective if she just stretched a little further.

“There now Magpie. All better.”


	2. Chapter 2

Molly wasn’t sure when she noticed they were alone. She’d been staring at Sherlock’s blank face and sobbing, sinking onto the edge of the couch as her shoulders shook. At some point Jim had placed an arm around her but she hadn’t resisted, too distressed to move. Now she looked up and realised Sebastian had gone, leaving them in the room with Sherlock’s body.

She wiped her eyes and moved away as much as she could, trying to think past the panic. John had to be almost home by now – unless he was staying the night with his girlfriend? Even if he was, Lestrade should call to give Sherlock his report. If the detective didn’t answer he might get suspicious and stop by to check on things.

“Feeling better my love?”

“Why did you have to do that?” she whispered wetly, sniffing.

Jim took out his pocket square with a flourish and handed it to her. “He was in the way, darling.”

She dabbed her cheeks and blew her nose, crumpling the material in her hand. If she looked at Sherlock again she was going to lose it, and there were more important things to worry about. Her eyes met Jim’s, the black pools alight with some insane fire as he stared.

“What are you going to do?”

“I told you Maggie, I love you. I just want to keep you close.”

He raised a hand and stroked the back along her cheek. She flinched, closing her eyes. His hand drifted lower, brushing her shoulder and then her arm. When she looked again Jim was gazing at her skin like he wanted to wear it.

“It’s been years Magpie. Have you missed me? I tried to make sure you wouldn’t forget with my little gifts.”

His grip tightened, fingers clammy around her arm.

“Oh Maggie, how much time we’ve wasted! But it was necessary. I had to find the means to give you everything you deserve.”

“I don’t need anything, really.” she shook her head despairingly.

“You can have the world, Mags. I’ll give it to you in a heartbeat. I can rain down fiery death on every city, I can bring you the brightest biggest jewels, I can take you anywhere and do anything.”

“I don’t want any of that!” She pressed a hand to his chest, trying to maintain some distance between them.

Jim _sighed_ as she touched him, leaning into her fingers. “My sweet Magpie. It was all worth it to have you back.”

His lips crashed into hers as he took her face in both hands, his grip like iron. She couldn’t move without digging his nails into her face but she fought anyway, shoving her arms against his shoulders as hard as she could. Jim barely reacted, teeth catching at her bottom lip until she gasped.

“Oh Magpie. You have no idea how hard it’s been to restrain myself.”

 

He pushed her backwards on the couch, pinning her with his weight. Molly brought her knees up but he avoided them easily, wedging himself between her thighs.

“James, stop it! You’re hurting me.”

“I’d never hurt you, love. You’re my darling.”

He attacked her neck, mouth sucking and nipping all along the creamy length and across her clavicle. Molly wriggled but it was useless, only tangling her more in the dress. Her walls broke then. This was too horrific to hold in any longer, tears spilling down her cheeks as she begged.

“Please, please Jim, please don’t do this.”

“I just want to show you how much I love you, Maggie. How much I care. I can’t control it when I’m around you like this.”

He kissed her again, tongue swirling in aggressively and Molly squeaked. She prayed as loud as she could that someone, anyone, even Mrs Hudson would walk in and stop this but nobody did. She supposed Sebastian was making sure of that.

Jim’s hand wormed between them, hiking up the dress until he could reach her thigh. She bucked and tried to shake him off but he was stronger than he looked and she was utterly, utterly trapped. Sharp nails traced lightly over her skin and Molly had never felt so alone.

The calm only lasted a second before Jim’s nails dug in, raking over the line of her hip. He slid one finger past the elastic of her underwear and swept it over her folds, making her shy away into the cushions as much as she could.

“All mine, Magpie. No one else is going to touch you again.”

He growled and leaned over her even more as he struggled with his pants. Jim’s hand was shaking almost too badly to manage the buttons and zip but he got it open, shoving his underwear down to uncover his angry red erection.

“Jim, please, you have to listen to me. You have to stop, please, please stop.”

He didn’t seem to hear her, pushing his swollen head against her with a manic grin. Jim thrust forward and she screamed, clawing at the couch as he scraped her dry walls. The criminal groaned loudly, resting his head against her neck as he forced himself all the way in.

“Christ Maggie!”

“Oh God, please Jim, please don’t.”

“Shh,” he tucked the hair back off her face, “Do you feel it Magpie? It’s perfect.”

She shook her head mechanically as if she could shake off his words, as if she could wake up and find all this was only a nightmare. But he braced his hands on her hips and thrust and she screeched again, fingers scrambling for something to hold onto.

 

Jim was frenzied, slamming into her with years of pent-up obsession and madness, eyes wild and unseeing as he pressed her into the couch with bruising force. Molly tried to think of anything that wasn’t this but there was too much pain and jolting movement. She almost wished she was dead just so she could stop feeling it. Her one last desperate hope was that someone would come in and stop Jim, but as he pounded his way towards completion she realised that was a silly dream. Nothing was going to make this end but Jim. She had a feeling if the house started burning down around them he’d keep going until they were both on fire.

She stopped fighting. There was no point really, not now. Molly lay limply in Jim’s arms, wincing and crying out softly with each new ache. His fingers dug further into her hips, teeth clamping in his bottom lip as he raised himself up and rolled his hips faster, gaze unfocused. Jim’s mouth fell open with a low moan as he stilled, muscles tensing as he dropped off the edge. Molly could feel him twitching inside her through the red hot agony of her torn passage, and felt a wave of relief as he pulled out and flopped onto her chest.

The flat was silent for a long time as Jim’s harsh pants turned into a soft whistle, and Molly tried to keep herself under control. Maybe Jim would be happy now he’d gotten what he wanted. Maybe he’d leave her alone, or at least be more reasonable. He lifted his head with a huge child-like grin that made her want to throw up.

“My beautiful Maggie. You were even better than I remembered.”

He reached down to tuck himself away and stopped, tracing a finger through the blood and fluids that glistened on his shaft.

“I’ve hurt you.” He looked up guiltily.

“Yes.” She whispered, not sure what else to say.

“I’m sorry Magpie, I let myself get carried away. I told you I can’t be trusted when you’re around. You make me so crazy!”

He dropped to one knee beside the couch and seized her hand, kissing it profusely.

“Can you forgive me? You can forgive me, I know you can. You’re the gentlest, most loving woman I’ve ever met. You understand, I know you do.”

The soft touches were too much; she wept, hand pressed over her eyes. Jim frowned and dragged her into his lap, wrapping his arms around her back even as she struggled weakly.

“I’m sorry. I’ll make it up to you, you’ll see. I’ll remember not to be so rough next time.”

Molly’s stomach fell out through the floor, her insides a dark hollow pit. Of course this wasn’t over. This wouldn’t be over until one of them was dead.

“Come on, let’s get you home.”

“Home?” she blinked as he stood, dragging her with him.

“You’ll love it Maggie. I worked hard to make it just right for you.”

Jim took her arm firmly, heading for the stairs. Molly glanced back at Sherlock lying cold on the carpet, at the rumpled couch cushions. She almost tripped over her feet as Jim hurried her along. What could she do? What could she offer him to let her go? How could she fight?

Sebastian was waiting at the bottom of the stairs, smoking casually. He had to have heard her screams but his face was completely indifferent as they reached the last step. She took one look at the huge arms and steely blue gaze and her heart sank. She was never going to win against him. Molly let herself be hustled outside and into the back of a long black car, sliding over the seat until she was balled up as far from Jim as possible.

 

They drove for twenty minutes to a mostly corporate district, huge towers stretching above their heads. Sebastian turned into an underground car park and stopped by the lift.

“Home sweet home Mags.” Jim grinned at her.

He opened the door and gave a little bow, beckoning her to follow. Molly didn’t want to, her legs refusing to move for a moment, but she didn’t have much of a choice. It was walk or be carried. She stepped out and Jim snatched her hand in his, leading her to the sleek steel doors.

“I’m so excited to show you,” he flapped his other hand by his side, “Aren’t you?”

“Yes.” She spat out.

The three of them got into the lift and Jim took a key from his pocket, sticking it in the number panel. The P lit up and they started moving. The space was too small with Sebastian there, with Jim holding her close to his side. Molly couldn’t breathe but she made herself keep calm. Having a breakdown in the lift was not a good idea.

The doors opened on a small square room with a very impressive metal door. Sebastian handled this one, running through a whole gamut of keycodes and fingerprint scans until it clunked open. Jim shoved her through almost as soon as he could, standing back anxiously.

“Well?”

It was like a more expensive version of her flat. The penthouse took up the whole top floor, the furniture classy but chosen for comfort over style. The art on the wall was soft pastels, the finishes were all basic cream – it was the exact sort of place Molly would have had if she could afford it, right down to the framed pictures of her on the wall and the books on the shelf. The windows stretched from ceiling to floor and wrapped almost all the way around the main room, giving them a view over the streets of London. She could see the Eye and the river, the city’s lights winking in the dark. She felt like she was up in the clouds.

“What do you think Magpie, a suitable tower for my princess?”

“That depends. Are you going to keep me locked up in it?”

It was out of her mouth before she could stop it and Molly froze, glancing back at Jim. He didn’t seem to take offence though, looking thoughtful instead.

“Well I can’t have you running around down there,” he screwed up his nose, “With the ordinary people.”

Molly had another stab of panic but she forced it away. She took another look at her surrounds, trying to imagine what Sherlock would see. There were no phones or computers, just a kitchen area with a small dining table and a lounge with a TV. Three doors led off from the wall next to the front door. Jim wrapped his arm around her waist and took her hand.

“I’ll show you around, shall I?”

He led her to the first door and pointed at the pale wood. “This is Sebastian’s room. He’s here to keep an eye on us and run the house. Don’t get too chummy though – I wouldn’t want to think your eyes were straying.”

He pointed to the far door. “That’s Daddy’s study. It’s off-limits to everyone but me.”

The middle door he opened, waving her in. It was a huge bedroom done in the same colours as her one at home, the sheets incredibly soft-looking and the light dulled by gauzy white curtains. She could see an ensuite with an enormous oval bath tub and a set of folding doors along the other wall that must have been the wardrobe.

“And here we are. Look Maggie, you match!” he giggled with a nod at her dress.

 

It hit her then. Not the fact that she was a prisoner and would probably never be found, let alone rescued. Not that she might have to spend the rest of her life with a crazed Jim and his cold-hearted bodyguard (at least until he snapped and killed her). No, it was knowing that any privacy she’d ever had was gone along with her autonomy and freedom. There was nowhere to get away from Jim, nowhere to just be herself in peace. He was going to keep her under his gaze at all times like a doll or a puppet, his perfect Molly on a pedestal.

Her legs gave out and she fell to the carpet, fingers wrapping in the threads as she bawled. An arm rested on her back as Jim knelt beside her, voice thick with concern.

“What’s wrong Magpie? Do you not like it? I can change it for you, anyway you like. Just say the world. I only want you to be happy.”

“You couldn’t have made me less happy if you’d tried!” she shrieked, burrowing her face further into the floor.

“I don’t understand. I love you.”

“You don’t know what that means. This is not love, Jim.”

“I do though, I love you. Here, let me show you.”

He tugged her up by her wrists. She hung limply, too tired to fight him off even with the sudden burst of rage. Jim leaned in and kissed her, one hand moving to cup her breast as his tongue danced over her lips. He was tender this time, running his fingers behind the shell of her ear and down her neck. Molly squirmed away from the touch but he caught her and pulled her back, grinding his hips against her.

She gasped in pain at the touch and dodged his next kiss. “Don’t. Jim please, I’m hurt remember?”

“Of course,” he nodded soberly, “Because I was too hasty earlier. I apologise.”

He stood, leaving her there as he walked into the ensuite and turned on the taps. She could hear the water dashing against the side of the tub but she couldn’t bring herself to care. Bathing might be nice but it was only a superficial relief from a very small part of her problems. She’d probably feel marginally better but it wasn’t going to change anything, not really.

Mercifully Jim was busy while the bath filled, fetching a towel and all the things she’d need. Molly let herself sink into the carpet boneless and numb. This couldn’t be her life. Things like this happened to girls in horror movies, not sad single pathologists with cats. She wasn’t equipped to deal with this. What should she do? Encourage Jim and do whatever it took to keep him happy, and thus herself safe? Or fight it every step of the way and risk his retaliation to hold onto some shred of her own will? What was more important, being alive or not giving in? Life with Jim might be so horrid death would be a better option but she knew there were plenty of things he could do without killing her. She’d seen the photos.

He walked in, jacket off and sleeves rolled up, and took her hands to help her stand. Molly stood there listlessly while he unzipped the dress and slid it off her shoulders, stepping out when he prodded her. He took off her bra and tossed it aside before reaching for her underwear.

“I can do it.” She said quickly.

“Alright.”

She’d expected him to insist but he seemed concerned, like he might hurt her. She gingerly slid the cotton down, wincing as she bent. Jim offered his arm for balance and she took it almost gratefully. He walked her into the bathroom and let her lean on him again as she climbed into the tub.

 

She’d been hoping he would leave her alone now but of course she couldn’t be that lucky. Jim sat on the edge and lathered up the body wash in his hands, reaching over to rub her shoulders and back. Molly hated the feel of his fingers kneading at her muscles, working out the tension _he_ was putting there. She wanted to yell at him, she wanted to scream and cry and slap Jim and run to Antarctica, but she did none of those things. It would have been pointless. Sitting in the bath was reminding her too much of Emily, the white tile a mocking reminder of how nuts Jim really was. She wasn’t sure what he’d do if she behaved contrary to his wishes or made it clear again how much she feared and hated him. It was easier to let him have his way and save her fight for something bigger.

Jim was careful as he washed her arms and legs, fingers gentle over her stomach. He scrubbed away the blood that had dried on her thighs, eyes watching her face for any sign of discomfort. He washed her hair, massaging the scalp so well she could have closed her eyes and pretended she was at the hairdresser’s. When he’d finished he stood. Molly turned to watch him over the rim of the bath as he unbuttoned his shirt, kicking off his shoes before leaning on the counter to remove his socks. His pants were next and then his underwear. He seemed strangely vulnerable without his suit, like his armour had been stripped away. He moved towards the tub and she tensed up again. He didn’t touch her though, climbing in at the other end.

“I think I’m clean enough.” She smiled tightly, putting her hands on the edge to haul herself out.

Jim caught her by the waist and spun her in the water, guiding Molly back into his lap. “Stay awhile my love.”

His arms wrapped around her in a warm embrace, her back pressed against his chest. Jim rested his head on hers and sighed contentedly. Molly let the water lap against her skin, using it as a distraction from the claustrophobic feeling of Jim’s arms.

They lay in the tub until the water was past cold and Molly’s teeth were almost chattering. Jim sounded like he might have fallen asleep, breaths slow and quiet, but he suddenly tapped her arm.

“I think it’s bedtime.”

She climbed out and he followed, grabbing a towel off the rack for both of them. She was glad he didn’t persist with the doting on her, letting Molly dry herself. When she’d finished she wasn’t quite sure what to do, standing in the middle of the ensuite looking at him vaguely. Jim dropped his towel and walked back into the bedroom, switching off the light before sliding under the covers.

“Do you um, have...are there night things?” she hovered in the doorway.

“Come here Maggie.” He patted the bed beside him.

She took a steadying breath. Apparently that was a no on the pyjamas then. She did not want to sleep naked next to an equally nude Moriarty. It was too exposed, too open to groping and touching and contact. If possible she would have slept in a snow suit just for the extra barrier. But Jim didn’t seem to be in the mood to help her out and she couldn’t paw through the wardrobe in the dark. For all Molly knew he hadn’t even supplied anything for her to sleep in, preferring to keep her like this.

She walked around the bed uncertainly, feeling her way up to the pillows and turning back the covers as she climbed in. Her body had barely touched the mattress before Jim was behind her, arm over her hip and nose pressed into the scruff of her neck.

“Goodnight Magpie.”

Molly turned her face into the pillow and huffed. There was nothing good about it.


	3. Chapter 3

John sat in Mrs Hudson’s kitchen with his arm around the landlady as she cried into a handkerchief. His eyes were red and swollen from crying too but that grief had been replaced by anger. His fist was clenched against his leg as he thought of the coroner moving around upstairs. He looked over as Lestrade walked in, the man’s face haggard and pale and his hands jammed in his pockets.

“They’re almost finished. Mycroft’s people have already cleared out.”

“I don’t understand. What happened?” Mrs Hudson croaked.

“You didn’t tell her?” Greg frowned at the doctor.

“I haven’t been home since yesterday afternoon. It’s all news to me.”

Lestrade sat opposite, running a hand through his silver hair.

“Alright. You know Molly Hooper?”

“From the hospital?”

“Yeah. Yesterday she came to Sherlock and told him about this wacko who’s been stalking her for years. She thought he was about to move in, do something violent. Sherlock set me on the guy’s trail and told Molly she could stay at Baker Street for the night.”

“And this guy...you think he came here and shot Sherlock?” John growled out.

“Looks like it. Her things are still by the couch, including her phone. We’re gonna have to assume he took Molly with him.”

“Oh my god.” John muttered, staring at the table.

“Sir,” Sally knocked on the wall, “Can I have a word?”

“Sure. Excuse me.” he nodded to Mrs Hudson and went into the hall.

“Will you be alright here for a moment?” John asked.

“Oh fine, fine. You take care of whatever needs doing.”

He followed Greg, folding his arms over his chest as he reached the pair. Donovan gave him an odd almost sympathetic look and Lestrade sighed.

“What is it?”

“They found something on the sofa,” the D.I. cleared his throat, “Traces of semen and blood.”

“What?” John said too loudly, quickly lowering his voice, “Is it...do they know if it’s Molly’s?”

“Most likely explanation.”

John’s joints creaked as he balled up his fists. Greg put a hand on his shoulder.

“We’re gonna get this bastard, alright? We’ll find Molly and get her out of there.”

“Oh I know we are. I’m going to call Mycroft and have this cleared up right now.”

*****

She was woken by the smell of melted butter. Molly thought that was odd; Sherlock never cooked. She stretched her arms above her head and flinched at the uncomfortable twinge between her legs. What was that?

She opened her eyes and it all came stampeding back: Sherlock, Jim forcing himself on her and then dragging her off to his evil lair. She rolled over, half afraid he’d be in the bed with her but he was gone. Some survival instinct made her sit up, hurriedly running her hands over the bedside table in case he’d left his mobile. If she could just get a message to Lestrade or John she’d be fine. She checked the drawers on both sides but there was nothing, just socks and underwear and several sex-0related things she _really_ didn’t want to think about (particularly since there was a photo of her on the bedside table). She looked around the room again. She wasn’t sure what to do now but she definitely didn’t want to be naked any longer than she had to be. She got up and went to the wardrobe to try and find something to put on.

Her half of the cupboard was exactly like the flat, full of expensive versions of her usual clothing. It was still mostly cute pastel sweaters and jeans but they were all designer, the cut more flattering than her usual style. She tugged on something light blue that might have been cashmere and teamed it with black pants, figuring there was no point making it too easy for Jim.

 

After that she was a bit lost. There was absolutely nothing to do in the bedroom. Eventually she would get hungry enough that she had to go out but for now she decided to make the most of the solitude and climb back into bed to think. Molly stared at the wall, the same thoughts tumbling over and over in her head as her hands tugged at the hem of the jumper. What was she going to do? What was _Jim_ going to do? Was there any way out of this or should she start getting used to the idea of staying here forever? It was too horrible to contemplate that no one would come for her, especially now there was no Sherlock to track Jim down, but she couldn’t let herself give up all hope. That way led to a dark place she couldn’t bear to think about.

The bedroom door opened and Jim walked in, smiling when he saw she was awake. He was more casual than the day before, still in black pants and a white shirt but it was unbuttoned down past his chest to show a tee underneath, and he was barefoot.

“Good morning my darling. Did you sleep well?”

“Not really.” she said honestly.

“I’m sorry to hear that. Is it the bed? The temperature? Tell me what to do to make you comfortable.”

He sat on the edge of the bed and cupped her face in his hand, pressing a chaste kiss to her lips.

“I was a little cold.” She said in an attempt to wrangle pyjamas out of him.

“I’ll have Sebastian fetch another blanket. Are you ready for breakfast?”

She nodded, knowing it was stupid to pass up a chance to eat. Jim could always change his mind and start starving her. She followed him into the main room. There was a full spread on the small table, bacon and eggs and sausages with stuffed mushrooms. She couldn’t see Sebastian anywhere but she doubted this was Jim’s work – though maybe it was his idea of being romantic? She sat and picked up her cutlery. Molly paused in the middle of cutting her eggs. Jim wasn’t going to poison her, was he? He’d made such a big deal about getting her back. He was insane though, unpredictable. She decided to wait and see if he ate first.

Jim hoed in and she relaxed a bit. The food was good, its warmth cheering her up slightly. She ate slowly because as soon as she finished Molly would be lost again, subject to Jim’s next whim. Breakfast she could handle, so she dragged it out. Eventually though she’d scraped the plate clean. Jim smiled and stood.

“I’m glad to see you have such a healthy appetite.”

“It was great.”

“Daddy has to work for a little while to make sure we won’t be disturbed here. You’ll have to entertain yourself.”

“That’s okay.” She said quickly.

“There are books and magazines and you can use the TV. I’m sorry Magpie, I’ll try to get through it as quickly as possible so we can spend some time together.”

“Your work is important.”

He beamed. “It’s so wonderful that you understand.”

He kissed her again and went into his study, the door locking shut behind him.

 

Molly went straight to the outside door and tried the handle as quietly as possible. It didn’t turn. She could see the deadbolt was locked and a light on the panel next to it was blinking red. It was probably some kind of alarm that would go off if she tried to open the door. There were no other ways out that she knew of and no opening windows. Escape was off the cards then. Maybe she could attack Jim? She went to the kitchen looking for knives or anything to use as a weapon but the cabinets were locked. A similar exploration of the bathroom found nothing more dangerous than an electric razor. Molly supposed she could snap off a chair leg or something to bludgeon him but it seemed like a stupid idea. She drifted towards the bookshelf, looking for something to occupy her. She found an old copy of _A Tale of Two Cities_ and decided it might cheer her up to read about someone with even crappier luck than her. She settled on the couch where she could see all the doors and opened the first page.

Sebastian came in from the lift around one with lunch, gourmet sandwiches that he arranged on the table. He didn’t call Jim in, just nodded to her blankly and left again. Molly ate for something to do. She wasn’t about to invite Jim out either.

She read again until it was dark, getting up to put the lights on. Sebastian returned and started cooking, completely ignoring her as he chopped herbs and threw chicken in a pan. The smell must have alerted Jim to the time because he finally cracked open the study door, emerging with his arms above his head.

“Evening Sebastian. My apologies Maggie, I got caught up.”

“It’s fine.”

“I hope you weren’t bored?”

“I had a book.” She waved it at him.

The bodyguard/housemaid set two plates on the table and stood at the kitchen counter with his own, eating leaning back against the bench. Molly walked over and sat, eying the chicken breast hungrily. It was smothered in a thick tomato and eggplant sauce and smelled divine. She reached for her knife and Jim stopped her.

“Here, let me.”

He moved his chair right next to hers and pulled her plate over, cutting off a small bite. He held up the fork and looked at her expectantly.

Molly had some self-respect, despite her fatal crush on Sherlock and her lonely cat-lady status. She blanched at being fed like a child. The disgust must have been evident on her face because Jim suddenly scowled.

“Maggie, don’t be disagreeable. Let me take care of you.”

“I can manage myself, thank you.”

His eyes narrowed. “Why would you insult me when all I want to do is look after you? Is this not enough? Am I still unworthy?”

“No, Jim I-”

He swept his plate off the table with an angry clatter, the sauce splashing over the pale carpet like a blood stain. She jumped at the sudden violence of it, mouth clamping shut.

“I try, Margaret! I try and try and it’s never enough!”

His face was turning red, brows dark and crazed. He was still waving the fork in his hand and her eyes flicked to the knife on the table. This tantrum needed to be defused before he got any other ideas.

 

She placed a hand on his arm soothingly, leaning in. “It’s alright James. It’s alright. I misunderstood.”

“You did?” his shoulders dropped, eyes boring into hers.

“Yes. I’d like you to take care of me. It was thoughtful of you.”

His expression instantly sweetened. “Really?”

“Yes.” She tried a smile and failed, opening her mouth instead.

He guided the fork between her lips and she pulled away, chewing softly. Jim cut another bite and held it out and she didn’t hesitate, taking that one too. They quietly worked their way through the whole thing while Sebastian ate in the kitchen, seeming indifferent. When it was all gone Jim crossed the knife and fork over her plate and sat back.

“Shall we put something on?”

“What about you?” she glanced at the smashed plate.

“I don’t eat much, honey. Especially when there are more important things to do.”

He lounged over to the couch and sat, holding an arm out for her. Molly followed as he picked up the remote.

“What are you in the mood for?”

“Something funny?” she sat stiffly as he pulled her against him.

Jim sorted through the folders until he found something and put it on. It was one of Molly’s old favourites and she wondered if it was a coincidence. Probably not; Jim had certainly been in her flat enough times to know what she liked. Creepiness aside it was better than having to talk to him so she tried to focus on the movie and enjoy herself.

It was very hard though when Jim was staring at her instead of the screen. The whole hour and a half she could feel his gaze burning a hole in her face as she tried to laugh along. He wasn’t groping her or saying anything, just staring. It was incredibly unnerving, like he was getting ideas. Molly tried to sit still and ignore him but it was impossible. Her skin crawled and her fingers twitched automatically.

She was almost relieved when the movie finished because Jim looked away. He turned off the TV and stood.

“Bedtime Maggie.”

She bit her lip. “I’m not tired yet.”

“Good. We can talk until you feel sleepy.”

Jim was waiting, hand out, and she knew stalling wasn’t going to change anything. At some point she would have to go to bed. It was better not to piss him off. Molly stood and smiled in what she hoped was a placating way, and the two of them went into the bedroom. Jim made her stop by the side of the bed, pulling her jumper off carefully. Her bra followed, and Molly only just managed not to cover herself with her arms. He reached for the button on her jeans and she flinched.

“Jim-”

“I’m not going to hurt you, my Magpie. I just want to help.”

She was rigid as he undid them and pulled the denim down, her underwear quickly following, but he just turned down the covers and motioned for her to get in. She noticed there was a new blanket on top of the covers even though she hadn’t seen Sebastian bring it in. Jim stripped quickly and bundled their things into a laundry basket before wriggling in beside her. His arms tugged her body flush against his and he sighed.

“So, what shall we talk about?” his fingers traced a figure eight on her hip.

Molly searched for something fairly neutral, something hopefully non-sexual. “Why don’t you tell me about your day?”

“You don’t want to hear that. It was boring.”

“No, I do. Tell me.”

“Alright.”

*****

The next two days were exactly the same. Molly would wake, sometimes with Jim and sometimes alone, and shower as quickly as she could before dressing. Sebastian would have breakfast prepared and then Jim would go to his office and leave her alone for the most part. She really only saw him at meals and for a few hours at night, and since he never touched her except to sleep it wasn’t as bad as she’d expected.

The next morning she was trailing soapy hands over her shoulders when the bathroom door opened. She looked up like a startled deer, fingers stilling as the water beat down and washed the suds away. Jim was naked, fresh from bed and watching her from the doorway.

“You’re not limping.”

“What?” she frowned.

“You’re not limping. Ever since my...when I got carried away, you’ve been sore and slightly slower in your movements. You’re not doing that anymore.”

Realisation struck her like a double-decker bus. She moved her legs experimentally and realised the pain was gone. She was healed, or enough at least that Jim had decided not to wait any longer.

“I’m glad you’re better.”

“I’m not – not all the way. I still need a bit more time.” She babbled.

He slowly crossed the ensuite and hooked the shower door open with a finger, stare hungry and very intense as he stepped in. She backed herself as close to the wall as possible but it wasn’t far enough, his body still almost touching hers. Jim leaned down and ran his nose along her neck and she squeaked, moving away. He wrapped a hand in her hair and kissed her, lips wet and warm against her slick skin.

She felt him harden before she saw it, his member nudging against her stomach insistently. Molly raised her hands to his face to try and push him away. She needed space to think, to process. There must be a way out but she was too overwhelmed to find it, brain stuttering along with every touch of Jim’s hands.

“Why don’t we have breakfast?” she tried desperately, “We can come back to this.”

“There will be time for that later, Magpie.”

He squeezed her hip and moved his fingers down, trailing them between her folds. Molly gasped and clutched at his arms, though for support or to stop him she couldn’t say.

“Jim, please.” She said, so softly he didn’t seem to hear it.

His fingers brushed over her roughly, too rough to be enjoyable but still sparking the right reaction from her nerves. He worked one inside her and Molly cried out. It was too early. She was still tender from his last assault and the water didn’t help, making his thrusts even more raw. Molly couldn’t bear it, gritting her teeth as he squished her between himself and the tiles, dreading what would happen when he tried to breach her again. She couldn’t stop this, couldn’t fight him off, but maybe she could save herself some pain.

 

“James, we need something. The water’s too harsh.”

He looked confused but his finger stilled. “Don’t I make you feel good, Maggie?”

“Not like this,” she made a face, “You don’t want to hurt me again do you?”

His whole expression changed to one of deep concern, his desire reined in momentarily by the memory. “Of course not.”

He climbed out and hurried back to the bedroom and Molly sagged against the wall gratefully. She supposed she could make a run for it but where would she go? She couldn’t leave the flat. Jim would only corner her again and he might not be so considerate if she made him angry. She was stunned that this is what her life had come to, waiting patiently for a mad stalker to come in and rape her.

“It could always be worse.” She whispered to herself, the words lost in the drumming of the water.

Jim returned and shut the door behind him, brandishing a tube of lubricant. She gave a grateful smile that was more sincere than not. He flicked the lid open and emptied a large handful into his palm, slicking himself up with a hiss. She didn’t want to watch so Molly turned her eyes to the ceiling instead, the blank white not exactly comforting but at least it wasn’t upsetting either. Slippery hands closed on her hips and Molly shuddered.

“Maggie,” Jim muttered as he kissed her neck, “My sweet Maggie. God how I love you.”

The words fell into her ears like lead weights. She couldn’t stop a tear escaping. The only man who’d ever loved her and he was a total psychopath. What did that say about Molly?

Jim lifted her and pulled her legs around his waist, moving one arm around her back as the other guided him into her. The lube helped but it still hurt, her breath pushed out of her as he thrust forward. Molly grabbed at his neck with her nails to try and stop the feeling she was being impaled, hanging there against the tiles like a prisoner on the rack. Jim chuckled low and gravelly, resting his forehead against hers.

“You’re so exquisite Mags. So exquisite, and all mine.”

Jim pressed their bodies together until there was no space between them, no air that wasn’t contaminated by his presence. He writhed and moaned as he slid inside her, teeth catching at whatever parts of her he could reach. He pumped his hips, arm raised behind her neck so she wouldn’t bash her head on the wall. Molly had no grip, nothing to hold onto except Jim, her arms straining to hold her steady as he thrust. He seemed more in control than the first time, his movements slower. She hoped that didn’t mean it was going to last longer.

Jim groaned louder, speeding up, and Molly found a seed of hope growing in her chest. This was it – he’d finish, they get dressed and eat and then hopefully he’d leave her alone to cry and tear at her hair. His legs slapped against hers and his grunts turned into a constant low whine, and then he was yelling and flattening her into the wall as his hands gripped her thighs, fingertips digging in hard enough to hurt.

Jim’s breath was still ragged as he slid out of her and lowered Molly back to the ground. He didn’t move away though, still crowding her. She watched his face for some sign, some clue about his mood. He looked up suddenly with an enormous smile.

“You were right. That was better – better than better, that was incredible.”

He kissed her and she kept her mouth shut but took it. She was tender again but not as bad as before, her legs steady as she waited for him to get out. Jim turned the water off and grabbed their towels, insisting on drying her and then himself. She used the chance to slip away and dress before he could offer to do that as well. Molly left the bedroom before he came in, sitting down to her plate of hash browns and omelette.

Even when Jim came out they didn’t talk, eating in silence (though his was satisfied and hers was more trauma-related). When they’d finished she stood and moved towards the book waiting for her on the couch. Jim caught her wrist and smiled up at her.

“Where are you going?”

“I thought you’d have work to do.”

“Oh no darling. I’m taking the day off for you.”

He made his way towards the bedroom, still holding her arm, and Molly baulked.

“Don’t you have people waiting?”

“No one as important as you.”

He pushed her down onto the mattress and her breathing sped up, pulse shooting through the roof. Jim lazily slid his shirt down his arms, reaching for his belt.

“Don’t worry, Mags. We’ll make up for all that lost time.”


	4. Chapter 4

Lestrade and John were at the Yard scanning one of their annotated maps of London, heads bent over the desk.

“You say there’s no traffic cam footage?”

“None. They had some kind of electrical fault – there’s a half hour period missing on every camera in the city.”

“Surely someone saw the car though. We could run a plate-”

“It was late,” Greg sat back, “Nobody was around.”

John sighed. “What are we supposed to do then?”

“We’ve got mountains of evidence – samples from Baker Street, DNA, all those things he sent her but none of it’s much good.”

“There must be something. Sherlock would have probably figured it out from the type of envelope or the brand of wax.” John chuckled mirthlessly.

Greg was quiet for a long moment as they both stared at the map. “What did Mycroft say?”

“Not much of anything. They know his name obviously, and from the photos at Molly’s they’ve connected him to a massive organised crime ring. Apparently he’s the leader of the worst operation in Europe.”

“So he could be the one who shorted out the cameras.”

“I guess.”

“Fuck! How can we compete with that?”

“Mycroft’s doing what he can. They have better resources-”

“It’s been a week John. If she’s not already dead...”

“I know,” he said quietly, gaze dropping to the floor, “We’ll keep trying. We have to.”

*****

Molly’s nerves were worn down to almost nothing. Her days were a disordered cycle of three moods: the relief when Jim was busy and she had time to herself, the fear and tension when something sent him into a raging tantrum, and the misery whenever he forced himself on her – which was often and usually unexpected. There were times when she thought he’d be aroused, like when she was showering or they got into bed, and yet he didn’t touch her. Other days she could be sitting peacefully at the dining table and he’d suddenly yank her over the kitchen counter and tear her trousers off. She was jittery and trembling most of the time, never knowing how Jim was going to react, never sure if she was safe.

She’d been trying to count the days but it was hard without a frame of reference. They all sort of ran together in her head. Molly thought she’d been at Jim’s perhaps a week and a half, maybe two. He never hit her, was only rough during sex, but all the same she didn’t think she could stand this much longer. She needed a sense of stability; she needed something solid to ground herself in and there was no chance of that with Jim.

She was sitting on the edge of the bed brushing her hair, the wet strands clinging to her fingers. Jim was talking to Sebastian in the kitchen; she could hear their low tones as a rumble through the door. The assistant never spoke to her, though by this point she was desperate for someone sane to talk to. Molly looked up as Jim opened the door.

“Hello Magpie.”

“Hello.” She said coolly, keeping her head down.

“Need help with that?”

“I’m just about done actually.”

He sat on the bed beside her and raised a hand to her hair, tucking it back behind her ear. He had that awestruck look again, lips just parted, eyes wide and dark.

“You’re so lovely, my Magpie. I’m always so afraid I’ll lose you, that someone will come and snatch you away.”

She clenched her jaw. “How could they? I’m up here with you.”

“Yes. Still, I feel like I want to do something to show everyone you’re mine. Shall we get married, Magpie?”

It felt like her heart stopped in her chest. Molly scrambled for an excuse, any excuse.

“We’d have to leave the building, wouldn’t we? Seems dangerous.”

“You’re right. It’s too soon. After all, I’ve waited this long – I can hold off a bit longer.”

She released the breath she’d been holding and set her brush down on the bedside table. Jim cupped her face in his hand and turned her back towards him, kissing her softly. She expected it to move into something firmer but it didn’t. Jim sat forward and lowered her to the mattress and she tensed, expecting the worse.

He unbuttoned her shirt, peeling the fabric away from her trembling chest. Jim swept his hands over the creamy skin, dropping kisses along the lines of her body. He unbuttoned her jeans and dragged them down, paying the same attention to her thighs and knees. The criminal swirled his fingers up in ticklish patterns and teasing strokes, kissing his way back up her torso.

 

Molly wasn’t used to him being this gentle, and she wasn’t sure she liked it. It didn’t hurt, which was a bonus, but it felt much more intimate than any of the other times. Jim’s touch was like a ripple through her skin, attaching itself to every part of her like a stain that wouldn’t come out. He took off her underwear and pushed her knees apart, ignoring the way they shook anxiously. She looked up at the ceiling, waiting for the inevitable thrust.

Instead Molly squeaked as a hot, wet tongue lapped at her folds. She bucked her hips instinctively but Jim’s hands were pressing down on the top of her thighs and holding her in place. His mouth was everywhere, lips sucking and tongue licking and swirling over her clit and down to her entrance. They’d never done this during the brief period they’d dated; Molly had been too shy and too inexperienced. Apparently that wasn’t the case for Jim. As he trailed back up over her nubbin Molly gave a little shudder.

She froze, eyes staring blankly ahead. Did she just...what was going on? Jim’s tongue made another pass and she shivered again, the good feeling immediately replaced by guilt. She couldn’t be enjoying this – it was Jim. She didn’t want him. She especially didn’t want him when he never asked, only took. Yet her body was reacting, too tired to hold him off after so much overstimulation. Over the past few days she’d been constantly taken without ever finding any pleasure in it, and now her nerves and her brain had had enough. Her own body was conspiring against her. Molly clamped down on the feeling, forcing it away. This was Jim. She hated him, and she hated this.

While her head was definitely not on board her clit had other ideas. Any control she’d had over her reactions had been severed somewhere along the way and she was powerless to hold back a moan as he gripped her hips and licked. Her knees were shaking from the conflicting tension, her hands pressed firmly against her chest. She had to fight this – she might not be able to stop Jim but she could at least keep herself in check.

A finger probed at her lips and slid past her entrance. It wasn’t as rough as usual and she waited breathlessly to see how she would react. Jim lifted his head and smiled at her.

“There’s my Magpie.”

And like that it was gone as quickly as air escaping a balloon. Any pleasure vanished as she was brought back to the stark reality of why it was being given. She lay back on the pillows as Jim continued, curiously numb as she filled with self-loathing. She’d almost given in, almost forgotten where she was. How pathetic. How revolting.

She lost herself for awhile in those dark accusing thoughts until she realised Jim was still going. He wasn’t going to stop until she gave some sign she’d climaxed. Molly’s stomach roiled at the thought of faking it for _him_ , of giving him the satisfaction and possibly encouraging a repeat performance, but she couldn’t exactly lie here all day. She spread her legs a little wider and started shifting slightly into each thrust, letting herself whimper as softly as possible. Jim seemed to notice, speeding up. Molly had never been a very good actor but she gave it her best, feeling like an idiot. Jim wasn’t exactly paying the closest attention either. She let her breath speed up until she felt she might hyperventilate and stiffened, wrenching a cry from her throat.

 

She collapsed back onto the mattress with a sigh of genuine relief as Jim sat back, his smirk making her suddenly angry. He moved over her to kiss her cheek.

“My beautiful Mags. You’re like my own goddess. Everyone should worship you as much as I do.”

He settled on the bed beside her, arm across her chest, and Molly bit her lip to keep from screaming.

*****

“John.”

“Mycroft? Is there news?” he sat up, throwing back his covers.

“I need you to meet me at Whitehall immediately. Bring Detective Inspector Lestrade.”

“Did you find her?”

There was a silence before Holmes answered. “Perhaps.”

“I’ll be there as fast as I can.”

He hung up, throwing on his clothes. John stuck his gun into the waistband of his trousers and pelted down the stairs, already calling Lestrade.

The two men got to Whitehall at the same time, John in a cab and Greg in his squad car. They shared a nod as they headed for the front doors.

“Do you know where we’re going?”

“No idea,” John looked around the empty lobby until he spotted a familiar figure, “But she will.”

Anthea looked up from her phone as they came over. John smiled.

“Hi, Mycroft sent for us.”

“Right this way.”

She led them through the halls, still texting, head down but never running into anything. Lestrade looked at John.

“Do you think he’s found Moriarty?”

“He must have. Why would he call us in urgently if he hadn’t?”

Anthea took them up a set of stairs and down another corridor before stopping outside a thick oak door.

“Thanks.” John smiled grimly, turning the handle.

Mycroft looked more business-like than the doctor had ever seen him, despite the fact he wasn’t wearing his usual three-piece suit. Instead he was in just his shirt and tie with the sleeves rolled up, leaning over a table discussing a set of blueprints with a man in full black. He glanced up as John and Lestrade entered, waving them over.

“This is the place?” the ex-soldier looked at the plans.

“We managed to track a communication to an office tower in Canary Wharf. The penthouse is owned by a Mr Douglas, whose driver’s licence appears to be entirely false.”

“Do we know if she’s there?” Lestrade frowned, “It could just be one of his hideouts.”

“It is a gamble but I’m fairly confident. It’s isolated, a non-residential neighbourhood, one way in and one way out. The sort of place you might hide someone away.”

“A modern-day fortress.” John nodded.

“Captain Jacobs and his team will be mounting an assault under our supervision.”

“I want to be involved.” John said quickly.

“Me too.” Lestrade nodded.

“It will be extremely dangerous. Moriarty has a history as a bomber. He may very well have the whole place rigged to go off at his command.”

“Mycroft, if Molly’s in there she’s going to be a mess. She’s not going to cope with a bunch of Special Forces barging in. She needs someone familiar.”

Mycroft tried to stare him down but John was adamant, fists clenched at his sides. The statesman sighed.

“Very well. Get Dr Watson and the detective inspector some body armour.”

 

A hand brushed against Molly’s hip and dragged her awake. She blinked lazily as she adjusted, Jim’s fingers wandering over her chest and stomach.

“Maggiiiiiiiie,” he crooned, “Are you up?”

For a second she considered feigning sleep but he’d just keep going until he got a response.

“Yes.”

“Good!”

He kissed her neck and rolled Molly onto her back, climbing on top of her. She could feel his arousal poking into her thigh and stamped down another wave of distress. She couldn’t even sleep in peace now. Jim reached into the bedside table and pulled out the lube, hurriedly coating himself before hefting her thighs around his hips. Jim slid into her with a fluttery groan, his fingers hot on her flesh. He was clearly impatient tonight, giving Molly no time to adjust before pressing her down into the mattress. Molly closed her eyes against the discomfort and hoped he was so worked up he’d finish quickly, though she doubted she’d be able to get back to sleep after this.

Jim was grunting and rutting away at her when there was a piercing alarm and the door flew open.

“Boss,” Sebastian said flatly, “We need to go full lockdown.”

Jim’s face shifted. He pulled out of Molly so fast she yelped, snatching his pants off the floor.

“Who?”

“They look like government.”

“How many?”

“Enough to take us out.”

Jim swore and pulled on his t-shirt, grabbing Molly’s hand.

“Come on sweets.”

She seized the bed sheet as he tugged her upright, clutching it desperately as Jim half-dragged her to the door. At last someone was coming! She just needed to stay alive for a few more minutes and she’d be free.

The flat was lit up by spotlights, a helicopter buzzing somewhere outside. Molly could hear the rattle of machinery from behind the main door. Jim jogged to the study, slamming the door shut behind them. The locks here were as elaborate as the front door, clicking shut heavily. She’d took a second to look around as Jim released her hand and headed for a bank of computers. It was very different to the rest of the flat, more suited to Jim’s tastes she supposed, all black and sharp edges. He had tables covered in computers and electronics, and one wall of nothing but filing cabinets that Sebastian started opening as she watched. A drawer at a time he worked through them, lighting a match and dropping it in before closing them again. Jim was doing something similar to his hard drives, fingers moving like lightning over the keys.

There was a deafening thud outside as the soldiers breached the front door, their guns clicking as they fanned out across the flat. Molly glanced at Jim, looking around for an exit. Surely he hadn’t brought them in here without a plan?

 

John was right behind Mycroft’s team as they entered the flat, gun tight in his palm. Greg was beside him looking faintly odd in his protective gear, eyes scanning everywhere at once. A handful of men peeled off to kick in the first door, entering what looked like a bedroom. The leader nodded at John and he headed for the second door, shouldering it open as he hurried in. It was another bedroom, empty by the look of it. Greg followed him into a similarly deserted bathroom. John sighed.

“She’s not here.”

“But she has been.” Lestrade pointed to the bra sitting on the top of the washing pile.

“Come on.”

They found the commandoes battling to get the third door open, their blowtorches peeling back the paint to reveal pure steel.

“They’re definitely in there?” he shouted to Captain Jacobs.

“Sensors are picking up three signatures and a lot of muffled ambient heat.”

“Is there another way in?” Lestrade asked.

“Not that we know of.”

“There has to be something. Moriarty wouldn’t lock himself in without an escape plan.” John frowned.

“He’s insane,” the captain shrugged, “Who knows what he’d do?”

 

Jim had obviously finished destroying everything he could, turning to look at Molly with his chest heaving. Sebastian made his way to a corner ceiling panel and punched it out, jumping up to tug down the ladder inside.

“Prep the pick-up.” Jim snapped at him.

The bodyguard climbed the rungs easily, rifle on his back. Jim extended a hand to Molly.

“Maggie dear.”

She could hear them on the other side of the door, hammering to get in. This was her one chance. Molly’s lip trembled but she tightened her grip on the sheet.

“No.”

“No?” he tilted his head.

“I won’t go with you.”

“What? We don’t have time for this, Magpie.”

“I’m not going anywhere with you! I hate you!”

Jim seethed, breath coming fierce through his nostrils. “Is that so?”

“You’re a monster.”

“All this time I thought we were getting along. I thought we were happy.”

“You’re insane.”

“Oh, you’re making me very disappointed Maggie,” he started bouncing on his heels, “I take you away from that old dull life, I love you, I look after you, I devote my entire _being_ to you and you hate me?”

 “No one in their right mind could love you, James.” She spat.

He grabbed her by the side of the neck and hauled her against the table, slamming her back against the glass top. Jim’s fingers dug into her cheek as Molly batted at him, legs kicking to no effect.

“You duplicitous minx,” he growled, “Consuming me with your false sweetness and your supposedly open mind! And now I find it’s been nothing but a lie since the beginning!”

He squeezed and she choked against the grip, scratching at his hands. Jim knocked her head back against the glass and she winced.

“Oh well Magpie,” he forced out through his teeth, “If I can’t have you alive, I’ll keep you dead.”

 

They were burning through the steel but even with the high-quality equipment it was taking too long. John danced around behind the front row, tapping his gun against his leg impatiently.

“They could be gone by the time we get in there.” He huffed.

“Two signatures still present.” Captain Jacobs said.

“Only two?” Lestrade frowned.

There was a sudden piercing scream and John’s head snapped up.

“Molly? Molly we’re here!”

“Hurry!” the captain barked at his men.

They made one last pass with the torch as the screams continued, ramming into the steel panel. It fell into the room, the commandoes tumbling with it, and John only had time to process Molly pinned against a desk before he brought his gun up and pulled the trigger.

Moriarty bellowed as the shot took him in the arm and a second later there were four soldiers tackling him into the floor. John holstered his weapon, running straight to Molly.

“Are you okay?”

She had some serious bruising on the side of her face, the cheek swollen already. She was clutching a sheet around her but John could see fresh scratches across both thighs. Lestrade stopped beside them and took off his mask as John reached down to help Molly sit.

“It’s alright Molly, you’re safe now. We’re gonna take you home.”

She looked between them dully for a moment before bursting into tears. John slid an arm around her and rested his chin on her head, stroking her back gently.

“You’re safe now. You’re safe with us.”

Several of the commandoes headed up the ladder after Sebastian while the rest hauled Jim to his feet. He glared at John as the doctor held Molly close.

“Don’t you touch her!” he shrieked, “She is mine! She will always be mine!”

Molly flinched and John just tightened his grasp, looking at Jim murderously.

“I think we’re done here.”

“Maggie! Maggie!” Jim struggled against his captors as they dragged him out.

When it was quiet again John helped Molly to her feet, running an eye over her toga.

“Do you want to get dressed?”

“I don’t want anything from him.” She said weakly, leaning on his arm.

“Okay.”

Lestrade patted her other shoulder comfortingly as they walked back to the lift, climbing inside quietly. Molly was suddenly so tired. She had to rely on John’s help to stay on her feet as relief flooded her entire system. It was over now.

 

They rode down to the ground floor and stepped out into a flurry of activity, government people everywhere. They all looked as the trio passed but didn’t pay too much attention. When they reached the kerb it was to find Mycroft standing beside his car staring distastefully at Jim slung between two soldiers.

“May I offer you a ride?” he said pointedly, eyes never leaving the criminal’s.

“I...I don’t know where to go.” Molly said.

Baker Street was out of the question. Her flat had bad memories of being invaded that somewhat cancelled out its feeling of home. She didn’t want to go somewhere strange and new – she’d had enough of that.

“I understand perfectly,” Mycroft said kindly, “I shall send someone to your flat for some things and you can stay at my house until you feel well enough to make a decision.”

“Thank you.” She said softly.

“It is my absolute pleasure Miss Hooper.”

Lestrade helped her into the car but John lingered, glancing at the statesman.

“What’s going to happen to him?”

Mycroft’s glare was all fire and restrained fury as he clenched his jaw.

“I shall make him infinitely sorry he was ever born.”

John stuck out his lip. “Good.”

“I believe it best you stay with Miss Hooper for a few nights. Until she feels better.”

“Of course.”

He slid into the car beside the pathologist and nodded to Anthea. She knocked against the divider and they pulled away, Molly’s eyes fixed on the tower until they were out of sight.


	5. Chapter 5

Mycroft’s house was too large for a single man, cold and empty as if it was never used. It wasn’t the most comforting place but it was better than the alternatives.

“I’ll prepare some rooms for you.” Anthea said, heading upstairs.

“Well I guess I’ll be off then.” Lestrade swung his hands idly.

“I’d...I’d like it if you stayed. Just for a bit.”

He looked surprised but smiled. “Sure. Course.”

“Let’s sit down,” John waved at the lounge room, “Can I get you anything? Water, food, an ice pack?”

“No, I’m alright.”

His eyes lingered over the bruising around her throat and dropped to where he knew the scratches were.

“Do you need me to uh, have a look at anything?”

“Not right now,” she sighed, “I’m sure there’s no more damage than usual.”

Greg and John both cringed at the cold indifference in her voice.

“That bastard.” The D.I. folded his arms angrily.

“Don’t worry, Mycroft’s going to make him pay for every injury he ever did you.” John scowled.

“It doesn’t change what’s done though.”

They weren’t sure what to say to that so John hustled her gently towards the couch. She sat, drawing her knees up defensively, and he hesitated.

“You can sit, John.”

“Uh, right.” He plonked down on the seat, careful not to get too close.

“I’m really grateful to you. Both of you,” she looked up at Lestrade, “I was starting to think no one would ever come.”

“We couldn’t leave you with that maniac.”

“We’re sorry it took as long as it did.” Greg nodded.

“Mycroft did most of the work actually. Moriarty made it very hard to find you.”

“I think he wanted me to forget anyone else existed.” She chuckled mirthlessly.

“He’s gone now. I imagine he’ll be dead as soon as they’ve extracted every piece of useful information from him.”

Molly started to cry again, hands over her face. John reached over to pull her closer, Lestrade watching with a helpless expression. Anthea walked in and evaluated the situation with a casual scan of the room.

“Miss Hooper, your things have arrived.”

“Come on Molly. I’m sure you’ll feel much better with your own clothes.”

She supposed it would make her feel less exposed than the thin sheet, so she stood and followed Anthea upstairs.

“We’ll be right down here.” John called after her.

It made each step just a little bit easier.

 

Anthea led her to a room halfway down the hall, stopping to point at the other doors.

“These rooms,” she said, “Are Mr Holmes’ and Dr Watson’s. I’ll also be staying for the night, just across the hall from you.”

“Thank you.”

She opened it and led Molly in. There was a paper bag on the bed with a couple of outfits and some pyjamas. Molly looked at the assistant a bit awkwardly.

“Um, I’ll just get dressed then.”

“Mr Holmes asked me to keep an eye on you.”

“I can manage by myself.”

“All the same, I thought perhaps you’d rather I dress your wounds than Dr Watson.”

Molly swallowed against the pain in her throat. Truthfully she knew she should get checked out, should have been to a hospital after the very first time, but it just hadn’t been an option then and it made her chest tight just thinking about it. She didn’t know Anthea but the woman was watching her with a completely blank face and for some reason that made it easier. If she’d seen pity or sympathy Molly might have wept.

“Alright.”

“Sit down.”

Anthea disappeared into the bathroom and came back out with a basic first aid kit, unzipping it and spreading the contents over the bed as she knelt before Molly. That felt good too, not having someone hovering over her for once. She pressed a finger lightly against Molly’s swollen cheek, turning her face to feel the bones.

“Nothing broken.”

She inspected the parts of her arms and legs she could see before looking up at Molly.

“You need to move the sheet now.”

Mutely she obeyed, letting her mind drift to somewhere nicer as Anthea gave her torso a quick once-over. Molly winced as her fingers touched her ribs.

“These feel bruised too. He hit you?”

“Just tonight. When they came to get me, I said some things. He lost his temper.”

“They shouldn’t be too much trouble. I’ll give you something for the pain anyway.”

Her gaze lingered over the deep scratches on Molly’s thighs and she took out the antiseptic.

“These will have to be cleaned.”

She nodded uncaringly and let the woman work. The cream stung but she didn’t notice really, too overwhelmed by the sudden shifts of the night. Not so long ago she’d been sleeping in Jim’s bed and now everything was different. Her brain hadn’t quite caught up to the idea she wasn’t a prisoner anymore, that she didn’t have to fear Jim, that she’d regained control of where she went and what she did and who she saw.

 

Anthea finished cleaning and dressing the scratches and eyed the purple bruises over her hips and thighs.

“I take it there’s some damage inside?”

Molly nodded, afraid she’d choke on the words if she tried to answer.

“A lot of damage?”

“Some. Most of the worst was older. He wasn’t so bad after...after the first time.”

“It’s better if that’s treated by a specialist then. There’s probably some scarring that will need to be addressed. We’ll make you an appointment when you’re ready.”

“Thank you.”

Anthea packed up the things and meted out two pills, handing them to Molly. She swallowed eagerly, anxious to shut out the pain of the bruising so she could focus on other things.

“The others will make you feel worse at first,” she said quietly, “All the helplessness that built up when they were searching for you is going to come out now as too much attention and pity, even when all you want is to be left alone.”

“How do you know that?”

Anthea just watched her face with that same blank look. “If you need someone to talk to, someone not connected to this – even just someone to sit in a room with silently? Come to me.”

Molly was struck by this strange unexpected kindness. She ducked her head, not sure how to respond. Anthea took the first aid kit and headed for the door.

“Wait.”

“Yes?”

“Would you...would you tell them I’m not coming back down tonight?”

“Of course.”

Once she’d shut the door Molly changed into her pyjamas and kicked the sheet into the corner, placing the rest of her things on the nightstand before climbing into bed. Someone had thought to bring the phone she’d lost at Baker Street but she didn’t want to look at it yet. Molly buried her head in the pillow. It was late and she was exhausted, but it was still a very long time before she got to sleep.

*****

Lestrade went home and John tried to get some rest but his old army habits had him up around eight. He walked downstairs, thinking there had to be _something_ in the kitchen. The elder Holmes was likely to have a much healthier diet than his brother. He wandered in quietly and found Mycroft sitting at the table with his shirt partly unbuttoned and a bottle of scotch.

“Um, hello.”

“Good morning John.”

“I take it things went badly?”

“Hmm?” he looked up distractedly, “Oh no. We got what we needed from Moriarty.”

“Really?” John frowned, “That didn’t take very long.”

“It turned out it was easy. All he wanted to do was talk about Miss Hooper, so I simply asked what he’d done to prove himself to her. He was happy to list it all as some kind of sign of his devotion.”

John shuddered and sat. Mycroft poured another glass and pushed it over the table towards him.

“Thanks. So what are you going to do with him now?”

Mycroft’s gaze narrowed over his glass and John took a breath.

“Right. Probably best I don’t know, huh?”

“I promise it will be imaginative and agonising.”

“Good. Great.”

“How is Molly?”

He took a sip of the liquor and shrugged. “Hard to say. She’s been through a lot, enough to break some people. I don’t know if she’s the kind of person who can recover from that.”

“She’s stronger than you think, John. If she wasn’t she’d have already lost her mind or entered a catatonic state.”

“I guess. I did a lot of work with trauma victims in Afghanistan but this is so different. I can’t imagine what it feels like to spend years looking over your shoulder like that.”

“With good reason apparently.”

“How can I help her?”

“We’ll get her a therapist, a good one. After that the most you can do is be a friend.”

John nodded sadly, some of the wind taken out of him. Without Jim to hunt there was nothing to distract him from Sherlock’s absence. He couldn’t help feeling like Mycroft must be even worse off though.

“Are you going to be okay?”

The older man shrugged. “I shall carry on as always.”

“Well...you can count on me. For anything.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

 

Molly was woken by a knock on the door. It was a novel concept, someone asking her permission before invading her space. She glanced outside at the bright morning light and rubbed her eyes.

“Come in!”

The door opened to reveal Mycroft standing on the threshold. He smiled at her but didn’t come any closer.

“I just wished to check on you. I thought you might be awake by now but I’m sorry I woke you.”

“It’s fine. I didn’t sleep very well anyway.”

“Would you like something to help you?”

“I’ll be alright.” She tucked her hair behind her ear.

He nodded silently and looked away. She felt like she should stay something.

“Thanks for letting me stay here. Especially after...”

“It’s fine.” He said softly.

She started to cry, hating herself for being so weak when Mycroft was being so kind.

“I’m so sorry about Sherlock. It’s my fault he’s dead. I should never have brought my problems to him.”

Mycroft walked over and sat at the end of the bed, giving her plenty of space.

“There’s no need to apologise. You are not responsible for Moriarty’s actions. The truth is he could have come for you at any time, and Sherlock just happened to be there when he did. I’m certain if we could ask him he would say it was worth it, trying to save you.”

“If I’d just kept my mouth shut-”

“Then you would most likely still be in the clutches of Jim and likely to remain that way permanently. Molly, if you feel guilty for Sherlock’s death then the best thing you can do is make his sacrifice worthwhile. Don’t let Moriarty own you.”

She nodded, wiping her face. “I feel like he’s been hanging over my head most of my life.”

“It will take some time to adjust I am sure, but you have all the help you need.”

*****

Molly spent a week at Mycroft’s. Surprisingly she liked it there; Mycroft was rarely home, so she had peace and quiet, and if she needed some kind of company Anthea was never far away. It gave her the space she needed to stop jumping every time someone came up behind her or thinking Jim was about to come in whenever a door opened. John stopped by at night for a few hours, usually dawdling when it came time to go home. She could tell he’d rather be anywhere but Baker Street but by the same token he couldn’t afford to move.

She started putting some thought into her own living arrangements. She couldn’t stay at Mycroft’s forever, though she doubted he’d kick her out. The idea of going back to her place was too hard to contemplate. She couldn’t be alone yet. As much as she was enjoying her privacy, too much of it would have made her feel equally crappy.

John was over for dinner, showing up with Chinese in hand. By some miracle Mycroft had made it home early too and the three of them made an odd picture as they sat around the table, all damaged in their own way. Mycroft finished his meal and cleared his throat.

“John, I’ve been meaning to broach something with you...I don’t mean to be indelicate bringing it up but I’m going to send Anthea to Baker Street tomorrow to begin clearing out Sherlock’s things.”

Molly glanced up quickly, catching the shocked look on John’s face.

“Right. I suppose it’s been long enough.”

“I thought it best to make a start. Of course you’re welcome to keep anything you like.”

“Yeah. I might pick out a few things,” he looked at his plate uncomfortably, “Did you...I’ll start looking for a new place.”

“There’s no need for that. I am happy to pay Sherlock’s half of the rent until you feel ready to take a new flatmate.”

“I can’t do that. I’ll find somewhere else. I uh, I’m not sure I want to stay anyway. Without him.”

Molly chewed thoughtfully for a moment before swallowing loudly. “I’d like a new place too.”

“You would?” John frowned.

“I don’t want to stay at my old one. Maybe we could look for something together?”

“You want to live with me?”

“You’re a friend. I could use someone around to cheer me up when I get gloomy.”

“We could probably afford an alright place together.”

“And I promise I’ll be less of a nuisance than your last roomie.” She smiled sadly.

John nodded carefully. “Alright. It sounds nice.”

“I’ll start looking, if you give me an idea what you want.”

“We can look together.”

Mycroft smiled. “Let me know if you need anything.”

“You don’t mind lending me Anthea to help move, do you?” John joked.

“I’m sure she’ll find a few extra pairs of hands.”

 

The landlady opened the door and stood back to let them through. John wandered ahead, turning as he took in the airy white space.

“It’s very light.”

“I like that.” Molly nodded.

“Big kitchen – body part free, too.” He quipped.

They wandered separately through the rooms. It wasn’t a huge place, most of the rent going on location instead of square footage. Molly was fine with that though – she didn’t need much room and she’d rather live somewhere that felt safe. The old building was certainly that, with its high iron gates and stone walls. She looked around the small second bedroom. She could see herself here, reading on her bed, maybe with a new cat. Or some other pet, she thought wryly. She could hear John’s quiet steps in the other room and smiled. That was a sound she could get used to.

“Do you like it?” she asked, re-joining him.

“I do. It’s got a sort of cheery feel to it, don’t you think?”

Molly looked around the bare lounge. “I don’t have much to offer in the way of furniture.”

“It’s probably more than I’ve got. Worse comes to worst we can always hit up IKEA.”

“I’ll see about getting someone to bring it over.”

“Ask Mycroft. He said he’d help as much as possible.”

Molly felt a rush of glee. A new place, a new start, no Jim clouding over her like a bad smell. She could do this. She looked up and realised John had an uncertain twist to his smile.

“What’s wrong?”

“Hmm? Oh nothing. I just haven’t lived with a girl since my sister left home.”

Molly laughed. “I think we’ll manage.”

John grinned and some impulse made her reach out and squeeze his hand.

“Yeah, I think we will,” he turned to the landlady, “We’ll take it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's it guys. Tell me if you want more, I'm not sure if I should continue this or not.


End file.
